


Seaside Rendezvous (give us a kiss)

by QueenAsha



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: A Night at the Opera Era, Bisexual Male Character, Coming Out, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Ridge Farm era, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-09
Updated: 2019-01-09
Packaged: 2019-10-07 01:23:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17356316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenAsha/pseuds/QueenAsha
Summary: Freddie is hurt during a night out, and reaches out to Roger for help. What starts as a moment between friends develops into something more as the band start working on A Night at the Opera, and Roger has to work through his own prejudices to make it work.





	Seaside Rendezvous (give us a kiss)

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was originally intended to be in three parts, with alternating point of views, but I ended up stuck in Rogers head, and I worried that breaking it up into chapters would disrupt the flow of the story. I’m also very aware that this is a very romanticised view of how albums are made, but hey, this IS fanfic, after all! I wanted to explore a potential relationship developing between Roger and Freddie during the production of A Night at the Opera. As such, I’ve made use of the themes of the songs from that album to try and build some cohesive, overarching themes. With that being said, I hope you enjoy! And please let me know what you think; this is the first piece of non-academic writing I’ve done in several years, so I’m curious what people make of it.

The call comes late on a Friday evening. Or Saturday morning, if you want to be technical about it. In all honesty, Roger should have been in bed by that point, but he’d stayed up watching TV, and ended up nodding off on his living room sofa.

 

_RING RING_

  
_RING RING_

 

The sound of the phone jerks him out of his slumber. He contemplates not answering it, but decides that if someone is phoning this late, something bad might have happened. Still, he is sleepy, and he almost falls off of the sofa, crawling towards the phone on the coffee table on his hands and knees.

 

 “Hello?”

  
“Roger, is that you dear?”

 

“Freddie?” Roger blinks himself awake. “It’s…” He glances at the clock on the wall, “One-thirty in the morning.”

  
“I know, I know, I’m sorry, but I wasn’t sure who else to call…”  


It is only then that Roger hears the tremor in his voice. “Has something happened?”

 

Freddie gives a nervous laugh. “I don’t want to worry you, but I’m quite stuck, and I don’t fancy being chastised by Bri or fussed by Deaky. Would you be able to come and pick me up?”

 

Roger is tempted to tell Freddie to get a cab, but something stops him. His friend hadn’t been himself this last month, ever since his relationship with Mary had broken down. Freddie hadn’t told the others what exactly had transpired, but he’d been pining away for her ever since, and Roger was worried that he’d gone and got himself in trouble. “Where are you?”

 

“I’m in a phone box on Dean Street, in the West End…” Freddie rattles off an address, and Roger sighs, resigning himself to spending the foreseeable future lost in Soho.

 

..

 

Roger isn’t prepared for the sight that greets him when he finally finds Freddie. He’s sat propped up against the phone box. His shirt is filthy, and ripped in several places, and oh god, _is that blood on his face?_

 

He practically jumps out of the car to help his friend to his feet. “Freddie, what on earth?”

 

“Ah, you’re here! Thank you so much for coming; none of the taxi’s would take me. Basta—” he gasps. “Easy, darling. I’m feeling quite tender.”

 

Roger slows down, careful not to jar the other man. “Sorry. What happened?”

 

“Nothing you need to concern yourself with. Got into a bit of a bar fight.” It’s obviously a lie.

 

“Fred—”  

 

“Now, now Roger, the reason I called you and not Brian or Deaky is because I didn’t want any fussing. Just take me home, please.”

 

Roger worries his lip. “Could you let me take you to mine, at least? Get you cleaned up?”

 

Freddie considers this for a moment. “Fine. But I’m serious, if you fret, I’ll be most upset.”

 

“I wouldn’t dare,” Roger says as he helps Freddie ease into the passenger seat.

 

Considering the part of town they’re in, Roger has a sneaking suspicion of what Freddie might have been doing, but it’s none of his business, and if Freddie wants to pass this off as a bar fight gone wrong, it isn’t for Roger to intervene.

 

…

 

When they finally arrive back at Roger’s house, Roger guides Freddie through to the living room and seats him down on the sofa. “How are you feeling?”

 

“Sore,” Freddie answers honestly. He clears his throat. “Would you mind if I use your shower, darling?”

 

Roger looks at him and swallows. With the lighting in his house being brighter than the dimmed street lights, Roger can really see the damage. Freddie’s lip is split, and there’s dried blood crusting around his mouth. His left eye is beginning to swell shut, and most concerning of all, there looks to be bruising around his throat, as if someone had been strangling him. Freddie tuts, and Roger realises that he’s staring. “Um. Sure. Use whatever you need, I’ll go and get you something else to wear.”

 

Freddie nods in thanks, and makes his way to the bathroom. While Freddie showers, Roger finds him a pair of sweats and a simple t-shirt, and leaves it outside the bathroom door.

 

_What the fuck._

 

It’s taking all Roger has not to freak out. He’s tempted to call someone, Brian perhaps, but is conscious of the late (well, early) hour. Besides, Freddie had been very clear about not wanting anyone to worry about him. However, Roger is feeling more and more unqualified with every passing moment, and thinks that Freddie would be best off seeing a doctor.

 

To still his racing mind, Roger busies himself by gathering supplies from the medicine cupboard in the kitchen. He lays everything out by the sofa, and is just settling down when Freddie re-enters the room.

 

“Hey Fred,” he greets. “Come sit.”

 

“You have awful taste in clothing,” Freddie informs him, tugging at the shirt. “This is incredibly dull.”  


Roger rolls his eyes. “Those are pyjamas, Fred. You’re sleeping, not going clubbing. Now come here.” He pats the sofa firmly.

 

Freddie obliges.

 

“Any wounds that need cleaning?” Roger asks.

 

“The shower took care of most of it,” Freddie says. “There’s a bit on my back though, that I couldn’t quite reach.” He suddenly looks very nervous. “You must remain calm when I show you though, ok?”

 

“I will,” Roger promises.

 

And so Freddie peels his shirt off, and Roger inhales sharply. “Fucking hell—” Freddie silences him with a glare. “I’m sorry. It’s just… You’re a mess.” Based on the shape and the extent of the bruises mottled across Freddie’s back, someone must have been kicking him while he was down. Roger’s eyes follow the pattern and finds the wound Freddie has been referring too. The area around the cut is darkening, and Roger thinks the person who committed the assault must have been wearing heeled boots of some kind to break the skin like this. 

 

Freddie doesn’t flinch as Roger disinfects the wound. Roger is simultaneously impressed and frustrated by his friends stoicism. Freddie may have a dramatic personality, but he was also very careful in how he managed displays of vulnerability.

 

He finishes cleaning the area and covers it with an adhesive plaster. “That’s you done. Is there anything else?”

 

Freddie smiles at him. “Thank you so much, darling. I’m going to ask you to be gentle, but could you give me a hug, please?”

 

“Don’t be daft, of course.” Roger is still kneeling on the floor, so when he wraps his arms around Freddie’s waist, Freddie is towering over him. He catches the scent of his own shower products mingled with a smell that he can only describe as distinctly _Freddie_ , and Roger is suddenly very aware that the man in his arms is half-naked. He flushes at the thought, but doesn’t let go, enjoying the warmth radiating from the other’s body.

 

The hug ends too soon for Rogers liking, but eventually, Freddie pulls away. “Right, I think it’s time we go to sleep. We have an early start, and if we don’t sleep now, we won’t be of any use tomorrow morning.”

 

Roger nods. “Would you like to take my bed? I can sleep on the sofa.”

 

“Nonsense. I’m fine out here, I’m not taking over your bed. Just bring me some blankets and I’ll be fine.”

 

“I have some spare stuff in my room, I’ll go and get it.” Roger gets up off the floor. “Night night then, Freddie. If you need anything, come and find me.”  


Freddie smiles at him. “Thank you. Good night, darling.”

 

…

 

“Goodness Fred, what happened to your face?” Brian almost drops his guitar when they enter the room, stares at Freddie in open horror.

 

“Someone tried to usurp my crown, can you believe it?” He throws his arms up in a dramatic gesture. “Don’t worry though darling; I fought him off. If you think I look bad, you should see the other guy.” The line might have held more weight if his voice wasn’t still raw from whatever had happened to his throat. Deaky and Brian exchange looks, and then glance back at him.

 

“Are you sure you’re up for singing today, Fred? You don’t sound so good,” says Brian.

 

Freddie shoots him a glare. “If you really think I’ll let some pesky bruising get in the way of me starting work on our album, you better think again.”

 

Brian looks to Roger for help. Roger shrugs at him; if Freddie wants to elaborate on what happened or ask them to postpone the session then he can, but Roger isn’t going to be a push. Brian sighs, and holds his hands up in surrender. “Fine. But I’m making you tea, and you’re going to drink it. Understood?”

 

“Understood, doctor May.”

 

…

 

The session goes about as well as can be expected. They’re making progress, but it’s slow. They’re bad enough for distractions on normal days, but it’s plain to see that Freddie lacks focus. He is obviously still shaken from the night before, but was too stubborn to call it a day himself. Eventually, John suggested they resume another time, and tentatively suggested they go somewhere else to record the album. The suggestion goes down well, and John is tasked with contacting Miami to investigate the viability of it.

 

They pack up their stuff, and Roger loads up the car. “Fred, want a lift back to yours?”

 

Freddie nods gratefully. They get in the car, and Roger notices Freddie flinch at the sound of the car door slamming shut. He sees his friend swallow, and it’s clear that he’s far from ok. Roger aches with sympathy.

 

“Do you want to talk about it?”

 

Freddie shakes his head. “I’m fine.”

 

 _Oh God, why couldn’t talking about this stuff be easier?_ “You’re not fine. You’re in pain, and you’re obviously anxious and upset. I’m not going to make you say or do anything, but I care about you, and I want you to know that you can talk to me if you want to, yeah?”

 

Freddie looks like a deer caught in the headlights, his eyes wide and bright and startled. “Promise you won’t judge me for anything I say.”

  
“I promise.”

 

Roger sees him swallow, and he can tell that Freddie is anxious. “I didn’t say anything because I was…” Freddie folds his arms across his chest defensively, and tries again.“I’ve been giving this a lot of thought these last couple of months… Well, years, really. I’m bisexual. I was on my way back from the _Golden Lion_ , one of the gay bars, when _this_ —” he pauses to gesture at his face “–happened. That’s why I didn’t say anything.” Freddie is staring straight past Roger as he speaks.

 

Roger thinks carefully before answering, realising that his next words would likely have a significant impact on the rest of their friendship. “If you think I’m going to judge you for liking men, or for going to gay bars, then that simply isn’t going to happen. It might not be my scene, but it doesn’t change that I’m your friend, Fred.” Roger pauses, and smiles playfully. “As long as you don’t expect me to join you.”

 

“Are you sure? You’d fit in remarkably well in the scene, darling,” He looks noticeably relieved. The moment passes though, and his expression becomes serious once more. “Well, anyway. I met someone at the bar, and we were going back to his place when, well… He suddenly got very worked up. I tried to calm him down, but it was like he’d become a different person. He was ready to fuck me one moment, then calling me a filthy queer the next. He started shouting and told me to get away. I thought I could help him out, and lets just say he didn’t want me anywhere near him.” He smiles sardonically, rubbing at the bruising on his neck.

 

Roger is horrified. “Your date beat you up?”

 

Freddie scoffs. “I wouldn’t call it a _date_ , darling. But the man I was planning on fucking did beat me up, yes.”

 

“We could go to the police,” Roger suggests.

 

Freddie looks bemused. “Don’t be naïve. Even if, by some miracle, I’m not laughed out of the room, _or worse_ , this will follow me and Queen for the rest of our careers. It’s hardly the worst thing to happen, I’ll get over it.”

 

Roger isn’t sure what to say to that. He feels angry at the injustice that befell Freddie, and he wants to do something, anything, to make it right. But lacking anything better to do, he simply wraps an arm around Freddie, and gives him a side-on hug. “I’m sorry this happened to you."

 

“Don’t be daft, this isn’t your fault,” Freddie says, and suddenly Roger feels like he is the one being comforted. Freddie sits up abruptly, shrugging Roger off, and gives him a firm clap on the shoulder. “We’ve been sitting in this dingy car park for much too long. Take me home, _mon chauffeur_.”

 

…

 

As it turns out, Miami and co had been very receptive to the idea of  them going away to work on their album. Anything to get them making money, Roger assumes, but he isn’t about to complain. Ridge Farm is peaceful, and is far enough from civilisation to keep them focused and on track. Moreover, Freddie’s bruises, while still visible, are healing up well, and he seems to be feeling comfortable in his own skin again. Roger doesn’t think it will be long until he is back to his usual self.

 

Everything is going well, _except_ … ever since they’d had the _conversation_ , Roger had started to look at Freddie in a different light. He isn’t sure what it is, but suspects it may have something to do with how Freddie had trusted him with what had happened that night.

 

That, and Roger hadn’t considered the reality of men being an option before.

 

And now… He can’t keep his eyes to himself. When Freddie dances, Roger’s eyes linger on his body, taking in his the sway of his hips. When he talks, Roger finds himself getting lost in his eyes, and when he’s singing, God, Roger wanted nothing more than to kiss those beautiful lips—

 

He feels like a teenager again.

 

Perhaps he’s just going mad from being away from the city for too long. It has only been a week and a half, but the other possible explanation… well, Roger didn’t want to think about that too closely.

 

…

 

It isn’t just Roger’s attitude that’s shifting; he and Freddie suddenly seem completely drawn to each others company. They’ve always been close, but Roger can feel that something is changing in their relationship. When they’re working together, they sit closer than necessary. Moreover, when the group split up for the night, they’ll retire to Freddie’s room together, and stay awake for hours, talking and laughing about everything and nothing together.

 

Roger thinks Brian and John have noticed that something is up; he catches them looking sometimes, but neither of them comment on it out loud. Roger is relieved; if no one mentions anything, he doesn’t have to think about it too closely.

 

…

 

It’s early morning, and Roger, Brian and John are enjoying a lazy morning in the kitchen. John is tentatively talking them through a song he’s been working on, and a gentle calm settles over the room.

 

That is, until Freddie comes storming in. He’s wearing nothing but a pair of flared leather trousers and an open silk kimono. It’s quite an ensemble; Roger can’t help but notice how tight the trousers stretch across his hips. When he catches himself looking, he tells himself that he’s just checking that Freddie’s bruises are healing up. “Morning, Sleeping Beauty! Nice of you to join us,” Roger greets him. Freddie gives him the two-fingered salute.

 

“No one is allowed to speak to me until I’ve had coffee, on pain of death,” Freddie tells them.

 

“There’s still some in the pot,” John tells him. Freddie blows him a kiss, and pours himself a cup.

 

“What are you all conspiring about without me?”  


“You’d know if you didn’t sleep the morning away,” Roger says. Freddie ignores him.

 

“Deaky has written a song,” Brian fills him in.

 

Freddie visibly brightens. “Marvellous! Care to share it?”

  
John blushes. “I was hoping you could sing it, but I have the lyrics here. It’s quite upbeat, and I was thinking I’d layer in some electric piano—”

 

Freddie eyes him with distaste. “The electric piano? That simply won’t do. Those things are dreadful, darling.”

 

“It’s too early for this,” Brian interrupts. “We’ll have breakfast, and then we can hear John play it for us later.”

 

Roger hears Freddie huff, but the singer holds his tongue. _Best keep it that way_ , Roger thinks. He scoots over, making space on the sofa, and taps it twice. “Come join me, Fred.”

 

Freddie smiles at him and obliges. They share a relaxed conversation: he starts telling Roger about the farm cat he’s befriended, and in turn, Roger tells Freddie about how he was sure that one of the geese was out to get him, because every time he passes it, it starts to his. Roger can’t quite focus on his story though, because he realises that Freddie is staring at him. More specifically, he is staring at his lips. Roger pauses. “Um. Everything ok, Freddie?”

 

“Sorry darling, but I couldn’t help but notice, you have some coffee— here, let me get it.”  Freddie leans in close and wipes the coffee away with his thumb. “There you go, my dear. All better.” Freddie keeps his finger on Rogers lips, and looks like he wants to say something else. Roger feels himself colouring in anticipation, although in anticipation for _what,_ he isn’t sure.

 

And then the moment passes, and Freddie moves back, resuming their conversation. Roger feels a stab of disappointment.

_Was he about to kiss me?_

 

…

 

“Want a preview of something I’ve been working on?”

 

It’s late, another full day of recording having gone by, and they’re in Freddie’s room. Freddie is sitting on the piano stool, while Roger is resting on his stomach across Freddie’s bed.

 

“I’d love to,” Roger replies, smiling at Freddie.

 

Freddie grins, and turns to face the piano. He inhales, and Roger watches as his posture goes from relaxed to straight and composed. It’s a fascinating transition, the way Freddie seems to become a different person when he plays, and it’s something Roger will never tire of watching.

 

Freddie takes a deep breath, and then begins to play a gentle, melodic tune. “ _Too late, my time has come; sends shivers down my spine; body’s aching all the time_.” His voice is soft, but Roger can see from the way he’s moving his body that the song is going to have more energy once it's finalised. “ _Goodbye, everybody, I’ve got to go; Gotta leave you all behind and face the truth. Mama, oooh, I don’t wanna die; I sometimes wish I’d never been born at all.”_

 

Roger finds the last line haunting, and he doesn’t like hearing that sentiment coming from Freddie’s lips. Nevertheless, he can’t deny that it it’s good. _Really_ good. “That’s fantastic, Freddie. Really good. Especially that piano. It’s… wow.”

 

“What, no criticism? No lyrical changes?” Freddie says innocently.

 

Roger fights the urge to punch him, instead opting to get off the bed and join Freddie on the stool. Roger can feel the warmth of Freddie’s thighs through his jeans. “Behave,” he chastises.

 

But Freddie isn’t done. He smiles widely, tilting his head to the side. “So no drum solo requests, or any lines about wanting to do unspeakable things to cars?”

 

Roger does shove him then. Not hard, but enough bring them both off the piano chair on the floor. They land in a heap of limps, both laughing too hard to untangle from each other just yet.

 

Then Roger becomes very aware of their bodies. Despite Roger being the one doing the pushing, he has somehow ended up with Freddie on top of him, _straddling_ him really, and the thought makes him flush.  Roger can feel himself becoming aroused but can’t bring himself to stop it. Besides, from the way Freddie’s pupils have dilated, and the way he keeps glancing down at Roger’s lips, he thinks the feeling might be mutual. They’re smiling at each other, giddy with excitement. Then Freddie’s lips are on his, and he feels himself responding, leaning in to the kiss. It feels so good, he can feel his body tingling in response. He deepens the kiss, wanting more, reaches to tug Freddie’s hips close—

 

Abruptly, Roger is filled with an overwhelming, all-consuming shame. He pushes Freddie off himself with a mighty shove. “Get the fuck off me!”

 

Freddie looks startled. His hair is dishevelled, and his face is flushed. “My dear, I’m sorry, I thought--“

 

“I’m not a fucking _queer_!” His words come out louder than intended, making the silence that follows all the more heavy. Roger swallows, wants to take the words back, but the shame still burns hot around his throat, and he fears he will choke if he tries to open his mouth.

 

Freddie, when he speaks, sounds eerily calm. “My apologies.” It’s such a contrast from his usual demeanour that Roger is jarred out of his panicked haze.

 

“Fred, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have–"

 

“Please get out of my room.”

 

“Freddie–”

 

“It’s queers only in here tonight,” Freddie snaps, spitting the terminology back in Rogers face.  “Now get out.”

 

Roger wants to say something, to apologise, to kiss him again, _anything_. But he’s afraid of what doing so would mean.

 

So instead, he says nothing, and leaves quietly.

 

..

 

The next day, they start recording some sections of _Bohemian Rhapsody_. The tension in the room must be palpable, because Brian and John keep shooting each other meaningful glances. Freddie is treating Roger with cold professionalism, which only increasers his anxiety. Since he isn’t playing drums today, he doesn’t have a physical outlet for all his nervous energy and ends up snapping at his bandmates even more than usual.

 

“Higher!” Freddie commands.

 

 _It doesn’t help that Freddie is being absolutely insufferable._ Roger clenches his teeth. “I can’t go any higher.”

 

“Just keep going, you’ll get there.”

 

He takes a deep breath, and tries again. “ _Galileo, Galileo Figaro--_ ”

 

He’s stopped before he can finish the note. “That’s not right. Try that again, please.”

 

“ _Galileo, Galileo Figaro!_ ”

 

“Again.”

 

“ _Galileo, Galileo Figaro!_ ”

 

“One more time, but try to go even higher.”

 

“ _Galileo, Galileo Figaro!_ ”

 

“I need you to focus, Roger. I want you to go as high as you can, ok?”

 

“ _Galileo, Galileo Figaro!_ ”

 

“You’re almost there, one more—”

 

“ENOUGH!” Roger snaps. “I’ve had it with these fucking Galileo’s! I’m going as high as I can, any higher and the tape won’t pick up my vocals!”

 

Freddie takes issue at that. “Don’t you think I know what I’m doing, darling?” He folds his arms over his chest and tilts his head to the side, as if daring Roger to challenge him.

 

He feels himself flush, although if it’s with residual guilt from yesterday, or just outright anger, he can’t quite tell. “I think you’re getting a bit swept up in your grand vision, and doing a pisspoor job of explaining what you want from me. Half this song makes no sense; who even is Galileo?”

 

Freddie pales, and for a second, Roger things he might actually throw a punch.

 

Luckily, John intervenes before Freddie can get too close. “How about we call it a day? I think we could all do with a night off.”

 

“I agree,” says Brian quickly. “How about we drive to the village and go to the pub?”

 

They aren’t meant to be going out; part of the point of coming out here was to get away from it all, but no one protests. They need a break, and a couple of drinks could hardly hurt.

 

…

 

They manage to get hold of a cab that can take them to the next village over. They enter the pub together, and find it surprisingly busy. It’s still early afternoon, but the pub is bustling with energy, and Roger relaxes as he soaks up the atmosphere.

 

They find a quiet spot in the corner. Roger pretends not to notice that Freddie moves to sit as far away from him as possible.

 

The change of scenery seems to do wonders for Freddie’s mood. It isn’t long until he’s chatting away and making friends at other tables. Roger swallows a wave of jealousy and gets up to buy the next round of drinks.

 

While he’s waiting to be served, a woman approaches him at the bar. She’s beautiful; tall and curvy with auburn hair. A blunt fringe frames her sharp features, drawing attention to her green, kohl-rimmed eyes.

 

Most importantly, looks nothing like Freddie.

 

They get chatting, and it soon becomes clear that Roger’s attraction is shared. After half an hour of conversation, he eagerly goes home with her. He pretends not to notice how white Freddie’s knuckles are as they clench on the table when they leave.

 

…

 

Roger’s head is still pounding when he exits the cab back at the farm. The sun is beginning to rise, and if he’d been the sentimental type, and in a better state of mind, Roger might have stopped to contemplate the serenity of the scene. Instead, he trudges his way across the path, and enters the main portion of the building. He tries to be quiet, thinking that the others might still be asleep, but as he stumbles into the kitchen, he sees a figure seated at the kitchen table.   _Huh._ For once, Freddie seems to be the one who has risen the earliest. He’s sitting at the kitchen table, painting his nails with a glossy black varnish. He glances up when Roger enters. “Have a good night with Cathy?”

 

“Caitlyn,” Roger corrects. “Yeah. Whatever. I’m going to bed.” He is tired, has a bit of a hangover, and doesn’t feel equipped to deal with Freddie in this state.

 

Freddie looks like he wants to protest, and opens his mouth, as if to say something. Then, apparently thinking the better of it, he shrugs. “Fine, darling. But don’t get too comfy; we need you up in a few hours. There’s a lot to record today.”

 

 _That’s rich, coming from someone who’s chronically late to everything_ , he wants to snap, but refrains. The point of yesterday was to stop he arguments, not make them worse.

 

…

 

The next week goes by, and tension remains high, but Freddie and Roger manage to refrain from arguing. They enter a new state of normalcy at the farm, finish up _’39_ , and things seem to be back on track. They’d even decided on a name for the album; _A Night at the Opera._ With a bit of luck, they might actually get this album released in the foreseeable future.

 

Nevertheless, Roger still feels nervous in Freddie’s company. The guilt is still eating at him, and he wants to make things right between them, but doesn’t know how. He’s contemplating this as he heads towards the kitchen for an early morning coffee, and he hears the voices of Freddie and Brian coming from inside.

 

“No, it’s too much, too mean.”

 

“But it’s real, Fred! There’s so much energy, it has a lot of potential.” It’s at that moment that Brian looks up, and catches sight of Roger in the doorway. His face lights up. “Rog, come in here. What do you think of these lyrics? Come on Fred, sing for him.”

 

“I really don’t think that’s necessary,” says Freddie. “It’s not a song I want to continue working on. It’s unfinished and I intend to keep it that way.”

 

“But it’s good. It’ll give the album an edge. Just give him what you have so far.”

 

Freddie looks deeply uncomfortable, and it suddenly dawns on Roger. This is a song about _him_.

 

Freddie clears his throat before he begins. _“_ _You suck my blood like a leech. You break the law and you preach. Screw my brain ‘til it hurts_. _You’ve taken all my love, and you want more._ ” Despite his earlier discomfort, Freddie practically spits the lyrics. He moves his shoulders to the beat Brian is tapping, punctuating each line with a dramatic hair flick. Roger keeps his face carefully blank as Freddie launches into the chorus. “ _Death on two legs, you’re tearing me apart; Death on two legs, you never had a heart of your own.”_

 

And then suddenly Freddie is staring him dead in the eye. “ _Kill joy, bad guy; Big talking, small fry; You’re just an old barrow boy. Have you found a new toy, to replace me? Can you face me? But now you can kiss my ass goodbye. Does it feel it good? Are you satisfied?_ ”

 

He ends the song there, though Roger gets the feeling that there is more.

 

Roger smiles tightly. “Lovely. Is that the lyrics you have in your hand, Bri?”

 

Freddie reaches to stop him “There’s really no need for you to see—”

 

Brian hands them over before Freddie can snatch them out of his hands. Roger skims the lyrics scrawled across the page, keeping his face carefully blank. Once he’s done, he hands the paper back to Brian. “That’s quite a song,” he says. “Brian’s right, it has a lot of passion. You must really hate whoever you wrote it for.” Roger feels his voice crack, and hates himself for it.

 

Freddie looks down. “I wouldn’t go that far.”

 

Brian, mercifully, seems to read the room. “Well, I have some stuff I need to work through with John. I’ll see you in the studio in a bit.”

 

Roger waits until he hears Brian close the front door before he turns back to Freddie, face flushed in anger. “Are you fucking kidding me? Calling me an overgrown school boy is one thing, but _do you feel like suicide? I think you should!_ Fred, I know you’re angry, but turn it down a notch.”

 

“You weren’t actually meant to hear the song,” Freddie mutters.

 

“You seemed eager enough to show it to Brian!”

 

“He wasn’t meant to see it either,” Freddie says. “No one was. I was angry and I needed an outlet. Brian came to look through some of my other stuff this morning, and I’d put this one in the wrong pile. It caught Brian’s eye, and he seems to really like it. You can hardly blame me for that.”

 

Roger looks at him, incredulous. “I can’t blame you for writing a song that basically amounts to a spit in the face? Are you sure about that? Because I think I’m doing a pretty decent job of it.”

 

“Don’t be such a drama queen; that’s my job.”

 

They stare at each other, both tense, until Roger bristles. “Look Fred, I’m sorry about what happened the other night,” Roger says. “I…”

  
“I already know you think I’m a filthy queer for kissing you, we don’t have to discuss it further.”

 

“It’s not that…” Roger trails off, a sudden wave of anxiety making it hard to continue. He powers through it all the same. “I messed up. I shouldn’t have said that. Fuck, I acted just like that guy who beat you up.” He takes a deep breath to steady himself. “You have to understand though, this is all new to me. You’ve had time to process your attraction to men, I haven’t.” He sighs. “But that doesn’t excuse what I did. I’m really sorry.”

 

Freddie considers this. “I forgive you. And I’m sorry about the song. It’s not exactly charitable.”

 

Roger looks at Freddie, really looks, and realises that he can’t let this exchange end without trying to fix what he did. He decided to be brave. “Can I kiss you again? I promise I won’t run away, this time.”

 

“You may,” Freddie says, a smile ghosting across his lips.

 

Roger smiles back, and when their lips meet, he knows he’s back on the right track.

 

…

 

Time seems to pass them by at an unnatural speed. The first month has suddenly become the latter part of the second, and Roger thinks that they must be reaching the home stretch of recording. It’s exhausting, being in the studio all day, but the stolen moments with Freddie make everything worth it. Through some miracle, being in such close quarters seems to be driving them even closer together, and Roger is amazed, and eternally grateful, that Freddie hasn’t grown sick of him yet.

 

They’re sitting next to each other by small river. The sun is out, but it’s still cold enough that they need their jackets, and they’re huddled together for warmth.

 

“I’d like to take you to the beach one day,” Freddie tells him.

 

Roger likes the sound of that. “We could go to Brighton, once we’ve finished the album.”

 

Freddie looks horrified. “ _Brighton?_ That won’t do. I want to take you somewhere special. How about Italy? Or maybe the south of France!”

 

“Wherever you want,” says Roger. Honestly, he isn’t fussed where they go, as long as they’re together. “Do you think we’ll be done with the album soon?”

 

“You can’t rush perfection.”

 

Roger is reminded of the latest phone call from they’re record label urging them to hurry up with the album, and thinks it best to steer the conversation in a different direction. He remembers that he has a talent that he hasn’t showed Freddie. “I know you’re the one praised for vocal skills, but have you ever heard anything like this?” Roger launches in to a vocal impression of a trumpet.

 

Freddie loves it. “That’s wonderful. I can do a few myself actually…” He demonstrates by making the noise of clarinet. “But I must say that you’re doing a far better job.”

 

“You think that’s good? Listen to this!” Freddie laughs in delight as Roger starts to imitate the sound of a kazoo. The sound of Freddie laughing is sweeter than any music could be, so he keeps going, exaggerating the sound further, until Freddie is doubled over, clutching his stomach. “S-s-stop! St-ahaha-I can’t take it!”

 

Roger finally shows mercy. “Impressed?”

 

“The noises you’re able to make never seize to amaze me,” Freddie says, raising his eyebrows.

 

Roger rolls his eyes. “Perv.”

 

“Oh, you love it, darling.”

 

“Irrelevant.”

 

…

 

“Do you think we should tell Brian and Deaky?”

 

Roger knows what Freddie is asking, but feigns innocence all the same. “Tell them about what?”

 

Freddie frowns. “About us.”

 

“I don’t know,” Roger answers honestly. He feels bad keeping it from them, but the thought of others knowing… it fills him with fear. “Do they really need to know?”

 

Freddie frowns. “They’re our band. More importantly, they’re family! They deserve to know.”

 

“And will you be telling your actual family about us?” Roger intends it as a deflection, but is taken aback when Freddie nods.

 

“Of course. Not now, but… one day, I hope. If you’ll let me.”

 

Roger feels his heart melt then, and knows he has to give in. “Soon,” Roger promises. “But not yet. I want to keep you to myself for a bit longer.”

 

…

 

“I wrote a song for you.”

 

They’re in Rogers bed, naked save the bedsheets. Freddie’s breath tickles Roger’s neck, and he shivers. “Oh?”

 

“Would you like to hear it?”

 

“Freddie, you know I always like to hear you sing.”

 

Freddie sits up then. Roger joins him as he moves back to sit up against the headboard.

 

Freddie clears his throat, then breaks out into a soft, cheerful tune. “ _Seaside, whenever you stroll along with me, I’m merely contemplating what you feel inside_.” He smiles as he continues. “ _Meanwhile, I ask you to be my Clementine._ ” He punctuates the line by giving Roger a kiss on the cheek. “ _You say you will if you could but you can’t. **I love you madly;** Let my imagination run away with you gladly_.”

 

Roger’s breath hitches. _I love you_. How very Freddie, to deliver those three words to him in a song. The rest of the tune is incredibly sweet, made even more so by Freddie tapping out the beat with his fingers on Rogers leg.

 

“ _Seaside rendezvous so adorable; Seaside rendezvous oh; Seaside Rendezvous, give us a kiss_!” Freddie delivers the last line playfully, and sure enough, plants a kiss on Roger’s lips. Roger welcomes it eagerly.

  
When they finally break apart, Freddie looks at him expectantly. “So? What do you think?” He sounds cocky, but Roger can read a hunt of vulnerability in his eyes.

 

Roger smiles. “I love it. And I love you too, Freddie.”

 

Freddie gives him a wide, toothy grin, and Roger feels like the luckiest man on earth.

 

…

 

The song doesn’t go over quite so well with the rest of the band.

 

“We can’t include it, it’s too cheesy,” Brian says, firmly. “We already have _Love of my life_ and _You’re my best friend_ , the album will end up too soft if we keep going like this.”

 

“Criticising _my_ lyrics? That’s rich from mister _You call me sweet like I’m some kind of cheese,"_ Freddie snaps. “It’s a good song. We’re keeping it.”

 

Brian and Freddie are staring each other down, silently daring the other to escalate things. John has suddenly become very preoccupied picking at the threads of his sweater, and Roger realises that he’s going to have to be the one to calm this down.

 

“I’m with Freddie, we’re keeping the song. What about if we add another element?”

 

“Like what?” Brian asks.

 

Roger rakes his brain. “Freddie, remember when we were fucking about imitating instruments? We could use that. Maybe add a bridge of some sort.” He looks up at Brian. “Let’s not cut it yet; give us a couple of days to play around with it. If you don’t like it after that, we’ll consider taking it out.”

 

“We? Isn’t it Freddie’s song?”

 

Roger flushes. “I just mean that we both want to keep it.”

 

Brian shrugs. “Whatever. Just make sure it’s worth the time you spend on it. We’re on a schedule here.”

 

“Excellent, glad we’re all in agreement,” John says, sensing an opportunity to diffuse the tension. “Why don’t we take a break? Brian, shall we go and make some lunch?”

 

Brian and John leave the studio. When the door slams shut behind them, Freddie turns to Roger, obviously still miffed. “Can you believe he called my lyrics soft? Well I’m not changing them.”

 

“Don’t worry, I won’t let them change my song,” Roger soothes. “We just need to play around with the music a bit more. Perhaps throw in something jazzy. There’s plenty of scope to make is a bit more musically interesting, and still keep the lyrics.” He reaches out and brushes Freddie’s cheek with his fingertips. “Besides, this way, we get a chance to truly make it our own.”

 

Freddie smiles at him. “You’re right. Sorry for throwing a tantrum. I just won’t let them take your song.”

 

“Would this even be a proper session if at least one of us wasn’t throwing a tantrum?” Roger jokes. Freddie scoffs, and leans in to give him a kiss. Roger hums in delight, parting his, and relishing in the feeling of Freddie’s tongue brushing against his lips.

 

Neither of them hear the door open, but there’s suddenly a clattering as something is dropped and smatters across the floor. “Oh, um, sorry… I’ll just, sorry–”

 

Freddie and Roger jerk apart to find John looking at them with wide eyes, his cup of water spilled across the floor. None of them say anything at first, just stare at each other in shock. Roger fights the instinct to push Freddie away and deny whatever John has seen. He can feel Freddie tense up next to him, and thinks that he must be fearing that Roger will do just that.

_For once in your life, be brave. Be bold._

 

 _Fuck it_ , he thinks. _I have everything to gain and nothing to lose._

 

“Hey Deaky,” he says, sounding a lot more confident than he feels. He reaches out and casually takes Freddie’s hand. “Did you forget something?”

 

“Um, Brian asked me to check if you guys wanted food, but I can tell him you’re busy?”

 

Roger stands, but doesn’t let go of Freddie’s hand. “That’s ok, we should probably eat, shouldn’t we?”

 

“That sounds like a great idea.” Even though he isn’t looking at him, Roger can hear him smiling. “You might want to clean that up though, you seem to have made quite a mess, darling.”

 

“Um. I’ll deal with that later. Lets, er, go and find Brian.”

 

They don’t let go of each other’s hands even as they walk into the kitchen. Brian raises an eyebrow at them, then turns to John, who shrugs.

 

…

 

Brian approaches him later that evening. They’re relaxing on the veranda with a beer each, while Freddie and John seem to be messing about by the fence of the chicken coop, still within sight.

 

“So, you and Freddie?” Brian asks. His voice is nonchalant, but Roger can see a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

 

“Shut up,” Roger says, but there is no bite to his words.

 

“I think it’s nice,” Brian says quickly. “You two have been acting a bit different these last couple of months, and I’m just glad you figured it out. I’m glad you have each other.”

 

“Thanks, Bri,” Roger says, softly.

 

Brian gives his shoulder a squeeze. “I love you both, you know. As does Deaky.”

 

Roger smiles at Brian, but suddenly feels too emotional to speak. He looks up, and can see Freddie ruffling John’s hair in the distance. He can hear the faint noises of John protesting, and feels a sudden swell of love for his family.

He knows that it isn’t going to be an easy ride; they’re going to have to figure out a lot of technicalities, everything from dealing with who they tell and how they’ll deal with the press, to making sure that the band itself is safeguarded. Still, as Roger watches Freddie smiling in the sunset, he feels happier than he can ever remember being in his life.

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. Title comes from the lyrics of Seaside Rendezvous  
> 2\. In this universe, Death on two Legs (Dedicated To…) is later reworked to its current form and ends up dedicated to Sheffield when he screws the band over. Sorry for the lyrical alteration!  
> 3\. If you made it this far, thank you so much for reading!


End file.
